Needs
by BlackFox12
Summary: Dean has always been worried that Sam will no longer need him...


**Needs**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything from Supernatural and I'm not making any money from this fic

**Summary:** Dean has always been worried that Sam will no longer need him...

**Prompt:** 32 – alarms, secrets, sharing

**Implement:** Hand and hairbrush

**Type of story:** Gen

**Warning(s):** Not really a punishment spanking... more like catharsis

* * *

Dean said nothing as he bandaged his father's wounds. Even though it must have hurt, John Winchester bore the pain stoically and simply stared out of the window. Since Sam had gone away to Stanford, it felt like an integral part of them was missing.

Of course, it wasn't something that either of them would admit, to themselves let alone each other. Even though he understood that Sam needed to live his own life, Dean still felt hurt. He'd raised Sam as best he could, and now it just felt like his brother had abandoned him. He knew that Sam didn't see it like that, but...

"We need to get after that spirit again; otherwise it'll kill someone else tonight."

"Yes, sir." Dean bit his lip against the retort he wanted to make. He didn't really think hunting again so soon after being injured was such a good idea, but he couldn't bring himself to argue.

Like Sam always said, he was the perfect little soldier.

John blinked once, and then wrapped a warm hand around his son's neck, squeezing gently. "Of course, you should treat your wounds first. I really can take care of myself, Dean. I promise."

Dean shrugged, and didn't reply as he straightened up. He doubted that his dad would bother treating his wounds if left to his own devices. Sometimes, Dean wondered if John knew something about his brother that he didn't. But he had to tell himself not to be so stupid. His father wouldn't keep something important from him.

Would he?

"Dean?" John frowned, concern showing briefly on his face.

Dean nodded, and tried to smile. He was aware that it was a very poor attempt, though. Somehow, things no longer seemed as good. He didn't want to admit it out loud, but he really missed Sam. Not only that, but his brother had made no attempt to contact him; apparently preferring to forget that he even had a father or brother. "I'll go and sort myself out," he replied quietly.

* * *

"Hey, Dean? You wanna know a secret?"

The thirteen-year-old looked up from where he was cleaning the weapons and just about managed to avoid rolling his eyes. "Sammy, we're supposed to be working – not talking. You've got the easiest job, and it was your fault we got into trouble anyway." Dean shifted position slightly and gave a slight wince as he was unpleasantly reminded of the spanking he had received not very long ago. "I don't want to add talking to our sins."

Sam pouted, pausing in his polishing. "I just wanted to tell you a secret, Dean."

Dean made the mistake of looking up just as Sam pulled out the puppy-dog look. He'd never been able to resist that, and he sighed heavily, glancing warily towards the door of the motel room. Their dad wasn't supposed to be back yet, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Dean could count on all fingers – and move onto toes – the amount of times John Winchester had come back earlier than he'd said.

Dean was sure that their dad did it on purpose, just to make sure he and Sam were obeying orders.

"Okay, shrimp." Dean sighed again. "What do you wanna talk about? It had better be something good," he threatened.

Sam looked up at his brother, his eyes still holding that innocence which Dean had lost long ago. In some ways, Dean envied him that; but it also saddened him. Soon, Sam was going to lose that innocence. He wanted to be able to spare his brother that, but knew it was impossible.

Sam would lose his innocence on his first hunt. Right now, he didn't know what he was asking for when he demanded to go. Dean would give anything to spare his little brother the knowledge that monsters really _did_ exist.

"Well?" Dean asked gruffly.

"I'm glad we got into trouble together, Dean. Not that you got into trouble as well," Sam added quickly. "But at least we get to spend time together. You're always with dad, and I hardly ever get to see you."

Dean closed his eyes, realising that Sam was right. His brother was so self-sufficient that sometimes Dean forgot he was just a boy who needed his family. Was that what had prompted the argument? Sam had been feeling neglected? Dean winced as he realised that this was as much his fault as Sam's – if not more. "You know next time, Sammy, you can just talk to me rather than start a fight."

Sam looked doubtfully at his brother. "But you always seem so busy..."

"Yeah? Well you listen good, Sam." Dean leaned forward slightly. "No matter _how_ busy I seem, you talk to me. You understand? Don't _ever_ let things get this far again."

* * *

Dean stirred, his eyes opening. He glanced around, wondering what had woken him up. He'd set his alarm, but it was still dark outside. Given how late it had been when he finally got in last night, he should have been sleeping still at this time.

Why was he awake?

Dean had just managed to convince himself that he'd imagined it – whatever 'it' was – but then he heard his cell phone go off. He grabbed it before the sound could wake up his dad. "Hello?"

"Dean?"

The signal was bad, but Dean could still recognise the voice. He'd wanted to hear his brother's voice for so long that he was half-afraid he was imagining it. Surely there was a supernatural creature which could pick up on a person's deepest desire? Still, he wanted it to be true... "Sam? Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me. Sorry, did I wake you?" Sam didn't sound very sorry, though. "I need to talk to you, Dean."

Immediately, Dean was alert. "What is it? Is there a supernatural problem you need help with? I can wake up dad."

"No!" Sam exclaimed. More calmly, he continued, "It's not a supernatural problem. It's something I need my big brother to deal with – not a hunter." There was a pleading note in his voice.

Dean was already out of bed and getting dressed. "What kind of problem?" Maybe he was just being slow because he was tired. It was more likely that he knew – on a subconscious level, at least – what Sam was talking about; but just didn't want to make the connection. "Where are you?"

"I'm outside. And do you remember that hairbrush you used on me that time I snuck out? Can you bring that?"

"Sure, bye." Dean hung up the phone, not even thinking to ask Sam how he'd managed to track them down. He grabbed the hairbrush on the side, and then climbed out of the window, rather than go downstairs and risk waking up his dad. He scraped his arm, but had no problem climbing down the tree just outside the window.

Sam was standing in the garden, looking just how Dean remembered him – if a little tired.

"So what was so important that you had to wake me up in the middle of the night to deal with it?"

"Dude, it's five in the morning."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What's your point? Dad and I were on a hunt last night." He took a certain guilty pleasure in watching the way Sam flinched as he continued, "Could have used someone on the research side of things." Almost unconsciously, he started tapping the hairbrush against his leg, remembering the way it stung when used on a bare bottom.

"I'm not here to argue with you, Dean," Sam said quietly. "You're my brother. I guess... I'm never going to be able to do this unless I can make things right with you."

Dean shook his head, finally putting the clues together. "I'm not going to hit you, Sam."

"It's called a spanking, Dean. Not hitting. I messed up in the way I left. I was mad at Dad, not you. But I took that out on you."

"No."

"I _need_ it."

Dean flinched, looking at his brother. He'd never been able to resist those puppy-dog eyes. He looked at the hairbrush, then back at Sam. His brother was taller than him now, but that wasn't enough to stop him. There was a bench in the garden, and Dean walked over to it, rubbing tiredly at his eyes with his free hand. Of all the times for Sam to finally show up...

After sitting down on the bench, Dean put the hairbrush next to him. He patted his lap. "Come on, Sammy."

After pushing his jeans and underwear down to his ankles, Sam leaned across his brother's knees. Dean shifted his position slightly, and then raised his hand and started spanking. It was nowhere near as hard as a punishment spanking, but he put enough force behind his swats to sting.

For the most part, Sam just lay there quietly, only shuddering a little when Dean's hand landed on a tender spot, or when he delivered a slightly harder smack than usual. Dean only paused when his brother's bottom was flushed pink and warm to the touch, and then he reached for the hairbrush.

Sam clenched his fingers in Dean's trouser leg, but other than that, he didn't react. When Dean delivered the first blow with the hairbrush, Sam jerked a little, but didn't cry out.

The spanking wasn't about pain; it was about healing.

Dean continued with the hairbrush until he could hear Sam's quiet tears. Then, he stopped and helped his brother up. "I was never mad at you," he said softly, resting his hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam nodded slightly, but just held onto his brother, as the tears slowed and finally stopped. Even after that, though, the brothers still held onto each other. Though neither spoke, both knew that they wouldn't see each other again for quite some time. But this separation had none of the pain from the first.

**The End**


End file.
